


too shy to say, but i hope you stay

by timelxdy



Series: josmin [3]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Implied Sexual Content, don't ask me where this is going, thasmin, the doctor doctor au, thirteenth doctor au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2019-10-23 11:01:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17682176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelxdy/pseuds/timelxdy
Summary: one shots following the lives of these useless gays!!





	1. and all i can imagine, is being brushed against your cheek

**Author's Note:**

> As Martha observes the blonde in her element, she makes a mental note that everyone should be a little more like Joanna Smith.
> 
> (Pre-relationship Jo/Yaz)

“Hey, Doctor Smith? Uh, I could do with some help with a patient, if you’re not too busy?” comes the stress-ridden voice of one of the new student doctors’ in the department, the defeated look in her eyes reminding the experienced doctor of her early days on the job. Her features soften and she lowers the carton of kid’s brand orange juice from her lips, setting it aside to follow the dark-skinned woman across the room.

Her name tag reads ‘Martha Jones’ and she’s one of the top students in her degree year, the only element clouding her grades being her self-assuredness. She’s eager to learn, though, something Joanna had gauged right from the start.   

“Jacob Cohen, age six. Telephone box toy stuck up his nose. I’ve tried everything, it just won’t budge without causing him discomfort.” Martha admits somewhat guiltily, but Jo simply smiles, reaching out to offer up the boy a high five. When he moves to return it, she quickly retracts her hand and pinches her nose, blowing a raspberry. The sweet laugh she earns in return melts her heart as well as helping her gauge his condition. Nothing serious seems to be wrong, besides the blue toy wedged in his left nostril.  

“Hello, I'm Doctor Smith. You can call me Jo, or Joanna, or Bob, or Ted. I don’t really mind. Just don’t call me Dave.” Jo’s green eyes crease in the corners, lips curling upwards in a grimace which causes the boy to giggle once more, his expression inquiring but amused.   

“Now, what can I help you with?” She crouches at the boy’s bedside, tilting her head with comical effect.“Let’s see... you’ve got two ears, two eyes... three noses. I can’t see anything out of the ordinary.” The blonde murmurs, faux-seriousness dancing in her eyes before she breaks into a grin. The boy laughs, reaching up reflexively to touch stubby fingers to his nose.   

“I don’t have three noses!”  

“Do you not?” Jo plucks a pair of thick-rimmed glasses from the pocket of her navy scrubs. She squints as she looks the child’s features over again through more reliable vision.   

“Oopsie-daisies. Easy mistake. Just the two, then, buddy.”  

“One! I have _one_ nose, silly!” The boy repeats, flailing his hands in exasperation. His mother, hovering at the other side of the bed, simply chuckles to herself.  

“Care to tell me why there’s a police box in your nose, Jacob?”  

“Thought it was bigger on the inside.”  

He’s granted a laugh from the doctor in response.   

“Better get it out before the police need it again, hadn’t we?”  

As Martha observes the blonde in her element, she makes a mental note that everyone should be a little more like Joanna Smith.  

 

* * *

 

 

A thick layer of ice coats the pavements under converse-clad feet when Joanna makes her journey from Weston Park Hospital to the police station a mile and a half away. The arrival of snow and ice and the dramatic drop in temperature in the city means she's surprised to have only been delayed by an hour today. It seems she’s jinxed it, when, halfway there, she retraces her steps with a heavily pregnant lady struggling with bags of milk and bread.   

Back on track and desperately trying to maintain her balance on the ice, Joanna slips... _literally slips_ into the main entrance of the station, hands tucked into the pockets of her pale, knee-length coat. She’s still shivering, though, considering the coat is the only form of warmth on her person. There's a take-out bag on her arm, the hot chocolate contained inside sloshing around with each movement.   

Going by her assumptions, she heads straight through reception and into the first corridor she finds, idly glancing at the different names and positions of authority labelled on the doors. There's a ruckus behind her before strong arms curl around her and all but drag her back into reception. The smell of stale cologne fills her nostrils and she holds back a grimace.

“What’s all this about?”  

“Unauthorized entrance, ma’am. Where’s your ID? You can’t just come waltzing in here without permission.” The middle-aged man chides, easing up his hold when he figures she’s harmless. He can tell by the abashed look on her features when they arrive back at reception. In amidst of the incident, the empty room is now filled with police, none of them Yaz.   

“Oh! My mistake. Very sorry, sir. I’m looking for my girlfriend. I have hot chocolate.” The last statement is declared proudly, as though the task was particularly treacherous. She offers up a sheepish smile.   

“What’s all the disturbance in here?” A _very_ familiar voice queries, her voice carrying through from the corridor adjacent to the one Jo had chosen. She makes a note of this before she peers around the bulky gentleman.   

It’s almost amusing to watch Yaz’s face transition from mild concern to confusion, then faux-exasperation. She pinches her brows together in an inquiring look. “Jo?”  

“Hiya! Sorry for that, got a bit _carried away_ , you could say.” The blonde glances up at the uniformed bloke who’d just dragged her back into the room, as if to seek validation for her joke. She thinks she can spot the beginnings of a smile creep along his lips.“Tough crowd, huh?”  

“She’s with me, sir.” Yaz quips confidently, allowing him to step back. She reaches for Joanna’s hand and draws her down the corridor with an unreadable expression, only pausing once to murmur nice and close to Jo’s ear.“You’re in _so much trouble_ , babe.”

The burning in her gut matches the hot chocolate she sets upon Yaz’s desk once they’ve reached her office, her words taking _full_ control of Jo’s thoughts for a few long, teasing moments.

Yaz had recently been promoted to Sergeant, and since then, Joanna has made her best efforts to tease her about her newfound domineering nature. She perches on the edge of her new desk, her eyes rolling in amusement when Jo speeds straight over to the swivel chair beside her.  

“Did you know – office workers are two times more likely to suffer an injury from a fall than non-office workers?”

“I’ll... keep that in mind. Now, what’s made you so impatient to see me?” Yaz adds curiously, reaching out to pause the blonde doctor’s chair mid-spin.

With a faux-frown, Jo sits up to slide Yaz’s beverage over. She's hardly complaining– being trapped between her chair and the desk by a woman in uniform is something she could _definitely_ get used to. She’s a touch distracted when she meets Yaz’s gaze, rolling her shoulders in a shrug.

“Just wanted to make sure the snow and cold weren’t getting to you.”

Yaz’s heart melts a touch when Jo’s expression shifts to shy affection, and she watches on in warm amusement when her formerly frostbitten cheeks turn a lovely shade of pink. She hides behind the steam of her hot chocolate and breaks into a smile when Jo copies.

“You said girlfriend, back then.”  

A beat.  

“You heard?”

“Mm-hm,” Yaz confirms, raising an eyebrow as if to ask for elaboration on the topic.

“Did I ever tell you how cool this office is?” Her brows pinch in sudden intrigue.“Have you redecorated?”

“Jo.”

“- I'm sure it was a different colour last time I was here.”

“Jo.”

“- Was it blue? I preferred blue.”

“ _Jo.”_ Yaz chides once more, sliding off the edge of her desk to reach for the arms of the chair Joanna has taken residence upon. She tilts her head and implores her to see sense - to speak to her. She never stops talking, but it’s rare that she actually _says_ anything.

“Talk to m-”

“Will you be my girlfriend, Yasmin Khan?”

There’s a moment of silence while Yaz, lips parted in a small ‘o’, forgets how words form and tumble from waiting lips.

“You’re not kidding?”

A quick, bashful nod comes by way of response, and their proximity means it doesn’t take much effort on Yaz’s part to lean in and capture Joanna’s lips.

The chill in the air and the snow still clinging to the bottom of her canvas trainers dissipates out of existence when Yaz kisses her, a feeling she has become acutely accustomed to by this point. Warmth floods her insides and turns her heart to putty, and they’re lost to each other's touch for a few long minutes before the blonde inches back, eyes wide. “You didn’t say yes.”

“Of _course_ it’s a yes, Doctor Smith.” Jo absolutely melts under her gaze, as per usual, lifting a hand to cup her cheek, thumb brushing along unblemished, youthful skin.

“You’re my _girlfriend_ , Sergeant Yaz Khan.”

Their next kiss tastes like hot chocolate and lip balm to brace against cold air and, most predominantly, _home._

In hindsight, having her own office does have its downfalls, Yaz voices ten minutes later - when PC Sinclair comes bursting in through the door. He’s greeted by the sight of an ever-so-slightly topless Joanna and a fairly dishevelled Yasmin, the buttons of her shirt carelessly unbuttoned and her belt hanging undone. She’s skittishly working to fix this while he _yelps_ and takes a quick u-turn, facing the door. At least he’s gentlemanly about it, Yaz ponders.

“ _Seriously,_ guys? Honestly, you need to get a room.”

“Hi, Ryan!” Jo is as chipper as usual, even as she’s scurrying about to find her bra and top. She exchanges a ‘we’ll continue this later’ look with her new girlfriend as she hands over Yaz’s cap, then clears her throat once they’re both clothed.

“S’up, Jo? How’s work?” Ryan quips with his typical smirk, as though he knows something neither woman does.

Yaz redoes her hair while they chit-chat, then redoes her checkered tie and perches back on the edge of her desk to watch on. Over time, their friendship has blossomed, albeit fuelled by relentless teasing of her. She’d say he’s a bad influence, but she does have a small sweet spot for the tall, handsome man now furrowing his brows at her girlfriend, acting as though he understands a word of what she’s saying. Bless him, he can’t keep up with her break-neck pace.

“- And that’s how I removed the telephone box from his nose. Pretty gnarly stuff, huh?” Joanna finishes in good spirits, splitting into a proud little smirk.

Ryan, on the other hand, has a greenish tint to his cheeks, and he makes a swift decision to opt out of any more hospital-talk. “I was just dropping some paperwork by, anyway. Better get back to work. See you around, Jo! Yaz, there’s lipstick on your collar.”

The young police officer smugly slips past her office door, bearing a childish smirk over his shoulder at the sight of Yaz’s startled look. She usually puts her utmost efforts into her presentation at work, so if there’s one thing out of place, it’ll be at the forefront of her mind until she’s home at night.

“The little-”

“Hey, babe, chill out. Let me-” Jo trails off, slipping a wipe from her bag to go over the mark left on white cotton. Her eyes are on her lips, of course, because they both behave like teenagers when they’re this close in proximity. She finishes up with a gentle kiss to the soft slope of her neck, just below her pulse, earning a longing look from the dark-haired woman.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Jo.”

Two drained hot chocolates and three more piles of paperwork later, Jo slips her coat on and ambles back towards the reception area again, arm-in-arm with her girlfriend. Despite the warmth nestled close to her side, she can’t help but shiver when the automatic doors slide open and breathe bitterly cold air in her direction. She zips her jacket up further, letting out a little ‘brr’.

“Are you sure you’re going to be warm enough, love?” Yaz queries, genuine concern lacing her words. Jo’s nose scrunches in the corners, already turning a little pink.

“Of course. I’m the queen of okay. A little cold isn’t going to affect me.”

“Oh, don’t go all heroic on me, babe. You know it isn’t going to work.”

All at once, she disappears into a yellow-doored room off to Jo’s right, with no explanation. The blonde lingers at the doors in a clueless little daze for a few moments, akin to a puppy left outside a newsagent for the first time while their owners browse the stock inside. That is until her girlfriend returns to her side with a light blue scarf in her hands. There’s a rainbow pattern along one side and it looks extremely cosy. Jo tilts her head in question. “Where’s that from?”

The dark-haired woman hands it over with a smile as bright as the fresh snow outside. She watches as Jo lifts it to her nose to give a curious sniff. “S’not yours. It doesn’t smell like coconut and honey.”

Yaz’s features soften and she almost, _almost_ coos at the description, letting an amused laugh fall from painted lips. “It was left behind by an ex-police sergeant. Thought you might like it. Plus, I’m not having you freeze to death on the same day we finally become girlfriends. Tomorrow, maybe, but not today.”

Scarf wrapped comfortably around her neck and looking more adorable than ever in Yaz’s eyes, Jo says her final farewells in the doorway, then turns to go.

 _“Curse this scarf”_ , she murmurs, as she’s tugged back by her girlfriend the minute she moves to leave. Then, _thank all above for this scarf,_ when soft, full lips press against her own less than a second later.

As she ambles home that evening, the faint scent of coconut and honey fills her nose from the blue material curled around her neck, leading her to change her course and wonder along the familiar streets to her girlfriend’s home instead.

 _Girlfriend, huh?_ The little voice in her head ponders, sending affection and… something exciting and unfamiliar straight to the organ pumping and working away quietly in her chest.

_This is going to be fun._


	2. she's an angel (my only angel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yes. it is i. procrastination queen. here to upload another one shot of these two rather than completing my other multichapter fic. i can only apologise.

Bare, curled toes slip from the warm comfort of fresh sheets and into the path of the cool morning breeze, which filters through from open windows one early summer morning. The beginning of a new chapter in both the occupants’ lives falls in line with a shared rare day off work, meaning Joanna and Yaz are wrapped up in each other's arms for the duration of the morning, and, if it were Joanna’s choice, well into the afternoon.

“Babe… mmm- babe, your toes are cold,” Jo whines into a mess of dark hair, making no effort to draw her own feet away. She curls a hand into the thin material of her girlfriend’s vest, giving a playful tug. Yaz begrudgingly shifts her feet away, only to be met with another drowsy grumble. “Mm - I actually kinda liked it. Put ‘em back.”

“Don’t make me regret asking you to move in,” Yaz mumbles into the curve of her girlfriend’s neck, shifting to draw Jo back against her side. She winds an arm around her waist, then hooks a strong thigh over her hip, effectively trapping her in her embrace.

“ _ Yaz.  _ You’re -” Jo’s voice breaks, followed by a yawn, “- on my bladder. Need a pee,” she finally whispers, sleepy and dishevelled as she weakly nudges at Yaz’s exposed thigh, wriggling her hips.

When Jo makes no further effort to tackle her off, Yaz giggles into the space between her neck and shoulder. “Give me a kiss and I might let you go.”

Jessie blinks green eyes open if only to sleepily glare at her girlfriend, brows furrowed and nose scrunched in a fashion Yaz will never find anything less than adorable. “Is this bribery, officer Khan?”

“I can’t believe you’d even insinuate-” Yaz pauses in her faux-huff when Jo leans in for what she assumes is a kiss, lashes fluttering shut only to be met with a rush of air.

Joanna clambers over her form and all but leaps onto the floor with a soft thud, skidding into the ensuite with a mischievous giggle. “I refuse to negotiate with dirty cops.”

The door clicks shut after the blonde and Yaz takes the opportunity to doze further, stretching her limbs and spreading out as much as possible while she has the chance. As much as she loves sleeping next to her girlfriend, she takes up  _ so much bloody room,  _ positioned like a starfish clinging to the wall of a tank or a skydiver, mid-fall.

After relieving herself and washing her hands, Jo pads back out into their shared bedroom, the largest wall left half-painted a sprightly shade of yellow. They had started painting the evening before but after a splash of the sunny colour landed against Yaz’s cheek, they’d gotten more than a little distracted. They ended up in paint-splattered sheets sharing kisses tasting richly of new beginnings.

“ _ Seriously? _ ” Jo huffs, reaching out to tug the sheets sneakily from her girlfriend’s form. When she wriggles to grab for them, Jo scales the edge of the bed and straddles the half-covered form. “A woman of the law, stealing a whole bed to herself? Never thought I’d see the day.”

Yaz is a mess of messy dark hair and playful laughter as she reaches up, tugging at the hem of Joanna’s oversized top - an old, weathered Arcade Fire shirt she’d owned since she was a student - and drawing her close to press their lips together. Every kiss is a contest, the push and pulls of hands and lips an effort to match the passion and pleasant surprise of their first.

“We - we should probably, -” Yaz starts, struggling to finish the rest of her sentence when a warm tongue curls and laps along her bottom lip, coaxing a soft sigh from parted, bee-stung lips, “- but we could always…” 

She lets the comment fade out, slipping her hand into a mess of blonde hair only to encourage its unkempt nature. Yaz lays back when Jo presses forward, lips trailing a torturously slow path to the space just below her ear, a sensitive spot Jo only targets when her thoughts reduce, simply, to the need to leave her gasping and writhing beneath her. 

Once she’s used her canvas for deep red heart-shaped scrawls and rendered her girlfriend wound too tight for words, she lifts her gaze, presenting Yaz with dilated, glossy pupils. “Did you say something, babe?”

Yaz can only watch on, dumbfounded and dazed, as Jo leans in, mouth ghosting over the thin material of her pyjama top - littered with stars and crescents - to tease mercilessly at sensitive flesh. 

“Maybe -  _ bloody hell  _ \- maybe a little while longer in bed won’t hurt anyone,” she gasps, head tipping back as she indulges in her girlfriend’s ministrations.

 

* * *

 

It’s just past midday when they finally drag themselves from their room and get ready for the day - mostly down to Jo’s refusal to leave the comfort of her towel once both have showered, then her refusal to eat anything other than custard creams for lunch. Honestly, Yaz is surprised she’d lasted so long living on her own if her diet of pure sugar is anything to go by. 

“Keys?” Yaz quips, halfway through the front door and sporting a casual getup of cropped jeans and a sweatshirt. Jo follows soon behind, jangling the set of keys in her hands before locking up. She’s borrowed Yaz’s denim jacket alongside a pair of plaid trousers and a black t-shirt, tied off with a pair of threadbare converse which look like they’ve survived numerous wars. 

“So, what’s the plan?” Jo asks once they step out into the welcome warmth the summer sun offers, plucking a pair of shades from her breast pocket and settling them on the bridge of her nose. 

“I was thinking we could take a walk through the park, maybe stop off somewhere to get some ice cream?” Yaz suggests, tilting her head in question. The mention of sugary food already has Jo’s attention captured. 

“Ice cream? Yasmin Khan, you speak my language,” Jo croons, looping an arm around Yaz’s. There’s a skip in her step, eyes bright and her smile contagious. The last few months have been the most testing of their relationship so far, with Joanna’s move-in occurring at the same time as her recent promotion. Their lives have been hectic, to say the least. 

As the summer sun breaks through the trees on their way to the local park, its rays douse Jo’s features in patterns of light and dark, highlighting green eyes and drawing out a dusting of freckles along her nose and cheeks. Yaz can’t help but be drawn to her, gaze flickering from kind, warm eyes to the slow curve of her lips. 

“Babe, watch that tree,” Jo chides in concern when her ogling girlfriend almost makes a beeline for a maple tree in her distracted state. It’s enough to garner her a lovely shade of pink. 

“I totally knew that was there,” Yaz mumbles in chagrin, making sure to keep her gaze set forward from then on. 

The park is bustling with activity as they amble along the pathway surrounded by oak trees, hands swaying between them like branches in the breeze. During the summer months, Yaz finds it’s easier to appreciate the greener areas of Sheffield as an escape from the busy urban spaces. 

Joanna is simply just grateful for a day off, the fresh air filtering through her nose decidedly more welcome than the smell of latex gloves and cheap hand sanitizer. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Yaz quips when she notices the faraway look in her girlfriend’s eyes, the fingers enclosed in her own earning a gentle squeeze. 

“Just grateful for some time away from work. Aren’t you?” Jo hums, leading the way to the left when they approach a fork in the path. She’s following her nose - the smell of fresh coffee and confectionery dragging her attention to an ice cream parlour and cafe they had visited on their first official date. 

“Relieved, actually. It’s nice to come back down to Earth once in a while,” Yaz agrees, stepping out of the way of a child on a scooter just centimetres from barrelling into her. 

“You might have to fine her for speeding, officer,” Jo chuckles as she watches the blonde girl continue to narrowly avoid other walkers. 

“I bet you were just like that when you were little,” Yaz turns to send Jo a fond, albeit teasing smile. 

“Oh,  _ a lot worse _ ,” Jo quips back, drawing Yaz to her side when she winds an arm around hers. “It’s a good thing we’re together now, actually. Someone’s got to keep me under control,” the last comment is coupled with a sly smirk, pupils alight with mischief. Yaz simply shakes her head in amusement, attempting to quell the fire she’s managed to stoke back to life with a few simple words. 

“Ice cream!” Jo cries in glee once they’ve reached the parlour, tugging on Yaz’s hand to gain a closer look at the flavours on display. 

After a long five minutes of decision-making - at least on Joanna’s part, both women, ice creams in hand, settle on a bench just opposite a children’s play area and a small meadow where a group of kids are playing with a football, their parents chattering nearby. 

Jo leans against her girlfriend’s side, humming in approval as she laps at her alarmingly luminescent blue ice cream. She’d decided on it with the toss of a coin, and beamed once she saw the smarties buried inside. Yaz glances on in amusement, preparing herself for the sugar rush which is likely to follow once her girlfriend has finished. “How’s the ice cream?”

“It’s brilliant! There are smarties in there too! Actually - wait a minute,” Jo pauses, pupils going cross-eyed as she glances down at the tip of her tongue, which has, to much of her entertainment, turned a light shade of blue. “Looth ath my tong!”

The sight is enough to crack Yaz’s reverie, laughter bubbling to the surface and leaving Jo unable to keep from joining in. 

“Could I try some?” Yaz quips, gaze landing on the slightly blue curve of her girlfriend’s lip. 

“Of course! Help yourself.” Jo motions towards the cone clutched in her hand, letting out a soft hum of surprise when, instead, Yaz simply skims her tongue along her bottom lip, the sugary substance providing a pleasant mix to Jo’s natural sweetness. 

“Mm! Tastes almost as good as-” Yaz purrs into Jo’s ear until she’s caught off guard by a pained cry. 

Both women turn to find a young brown-haired girl, perhaps five years of age, sprawled on her side beneath the monkey bars of the playground’s jungle gym. She’s clutching her arm and squirming in agony, tears welling in deep green eyes as she cries out desperately. 

Ice cream unceremoniously dropped into the rubbish bin beside the bench, Joanna is the first to jog over, sweeping into action as though she’s back on the hospital ward. The sight drags Yaz’s thoughts back to those long days spent recovering from her injuries, a phantom ache burning to life in the faint lines littering her forearm. She swallows back the memories and joins her girlfriend in an instant.  

“Are you okay, love?” Jo croons once she’s crouched beside the little girl, working to establish whether she’s in enough pain to require further assistance. 

The girl motions to the limb held to her chest, which, from Jo’s perspective, is most likely broken. “My arm - I fell - I fell and I landed on it and now - ow,” she stammers between tearful hiccups, feet kicking against the woodchippings in clear discomfort. Jo’s heart aches between her ribs, offering up a concerned but comforting frown. 

“Oh, dear. That’s not good, is it? Is it a kind of sting ouch or achy ouch?” She shifts, sinking to her knees so she can lower to her level and glance over the limb in question. 

Yaz, in the meantime, glances around in search of a worried parent, brows pinched and mind focused. There’s a lady with straight, chestnut hair sat at a picnic bench beside another with a head of dark curls, who each serve as the only people turned away from the incident. Working on instinct, Yaz hurriedly makes her way over. 

“Achy,” the girl manages before crying out once more, a surge of pain overtaking her form. Jo winces at the sight - she never likes seeing children, of all patients, in pain. “Would you mind if I take a look at your arm, love? You’re so brave. You’re doing so well.” 

The girl shakes her head in adamance, wriggling away with a pained gasp and a soft cry. “I want my mummies, where are my mummies?”

“We’re right here, Rowan,” an unfamiliar voice chimes from Jo’s side, where, supposedly, one of the girl’s mothers now sits, reaching for her hand. She turns, meeting the concerned parents’ gazes. “I’m Jo, a doctor at Weston Park’s A&E. I think she’s fractured her wrist. Do you think you could encourage her to let me have a look?”

“Of course. I’m Clara - this is my wife, Bill. Hey, sweetie? Can you let the nice doctor take a look?” The brunette whispers softly, scooping the injured girl into her lap and wiping away the tears littering her flushed cheeks. She gives a hesitant nod, blue eyes swimming with scepticism. 

“There’s no need to be nervous, I promise. Hey, look!” Jo reaches into her pocket, drawing out a seemingly never-ending string of stickers. The youngster is immediately distracted. “If you let me have a look at your arm, I think you’ll definitely deserve as many of these as you like.” Tentatively, Jo shuffles forward, settling at her side so she can ever so gently lift the injured limb. “Do you think you can move your fingers okay?”

The young girl’s fingers twitch and curl until a soft whimper of pain melts against her mother’s shoulder. Jo’s suspicions are almost entirely confirmed. 

“You’re so brave, Rowan! Can I call you Ro? It sounds like my name; Jo, but it’s much cooler,” Joanna beams, though her eyes only convey sympathy for the afflicted child. “Can you move your wrist at all, or is it too ouchy?”

“Too ouchy,” Rowan confirms, though the nickname makes her giggle. Seeing a smile brimming through tear-stained, flushed cheeks does nothing to soothe the maternal pull at her heartstrings. 

Yaz can only watch on in proud bewilderment as Jo communicates and assesses the child with expert ease, not surprised in the least considering her girlfriend’s childlike nature. Ensuring a crowd doesn’t build around the group, she keeps the other children and parents in her peripherals. 

She continues with her examination by applying gentle pressure to the base of her fingers, moving her hands slowly and carefully. The tenderness is clear in the way Rowan’s features twist into agony when she reaches the inside of her wrist, so she gently lets the injured limb settle back in the girl’s lap. “All done! You’ve been so brave, Ro! I think you definitely deserve a treat from your mummies today, don’t you?”

In sly glee, Rowan glances up at her mothers. “Yes!”

While Rowan shifts back into her mother’s arms with a denim jacket littered with ‘I’ve been brave today’ stickers, Jo redirects her gaze to her mothers. “I’m ninety-nine per cent sure she’s fractured her scaphoid bone, which connects at the base of the thumb. Take her to the nearest accident and emergency and she’ll be patched up in no time.”

There’s a gentle, tender smile on her lips as Jo addresses the worried parents, encouraging the anxious racing of their hearts to calm and thoughts to turn from fear to warm reassurance. 

“Thank you so much,” Bill, the youngest of both women and dressed down in a rainbow t-shirt and a denim jacket, sighs in relief, lifting her daughter into her arms and straightening up. Her wife reaches up to wipe further tears from Rowan’s pink cheeks. 

“Say thank you to the kind doctor, love,” Clara encourages, flashing a grateful smile in the blonde’s direction. 

Rowan turns, fingers toying with the pins scattered over her mother’s jacket. “Thank you,” she murmurs shyly, then retreats against Bill’s shoulder again. 

Green eyes swimming with affection for the child, Jo blushes in response to the women’s gratitude, shrugging her shoulders with a soft laugh. “It’s my job. Get well soon, Rowan! You’ll be beating the boys on those monkey bars again in no time.”

As the family of three make their way out of the park and towards the nearest hospital, Jo turns back to Yaz with an appeased little smile. Adrenaline still runs like liquid fire through her veins, leaving a familiar feeling of agitation stretched right to the tips of her fingers. Yaz recognises the look from her first few hours in hospital a year prior, where Jo was ready to jump into action at any given moment. 

“I can hear your nerves buzzing from here, babe,” Yaz chuckles, reaching out to settle a hand on her cheek and break her from her dazed state. “You okay?”

“Mm-hm, I’m good. Sorry. Doctor mode; it’s hard to shake myself out of it,” Jo leans into her touch, lashes fluttering and pulse slowly calming to a more steady, leisurely pace. 

“Come on, let’s get back home,” Yaz encourages softly, dropping her hand to enclose it around Jo’s, squeezing gently. “A cup of tea fixes everything, you always say.” 

“Tea at our place? I love tea at our place,” Jo beams, a sudden skip in her step once more. She spares a glance towards her girlfriend and rewards her with the most elated of grins. 

Yaz can only return the gesture, wondering how on Earth she could find someone as fiercely passionate, committed and good-hearted as Joanna. Compassion seems to cling to every bone in her body, refusing her any possible opportunity for selfishness and only allowing her to help those in need, no matter the problem. 

More often than not, Yaz finds herself wondering whether her girlfriend’s heart is actually bigger on the inside.


End file.
